


saw myself tonight (caught my reflection in the mirror)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, background Steve/Bucky - Freeform, my own delight in sebastian stan being slapped in the face emerges again, when canon gives you RPF crossover you take it and you run with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: The first Sebastian hears of it, he's approached by an extremely competent-looking blonde woman in a sharp dark suit. CIA, what thefuck, and Seb just stares at her.“Come on,” he says. “Okay, we kind of look similar, I guess I'm the celebrity look-alike you'd get if you stuck our faces through one of those dumb apps—or he is, maybe, shit, he's probably still more famous than I am. But he died in, like, 1945, right? Why are you asking me about thisnow?”Maybe in the end it's his absolute confusion which convinces them; maybe it's just the fact that he's obviously a total idiot, couldn't possibly have any connection to this guy called theWinter Soldierbeyond the fact that they both have high cheekbones, grey eyes and a sharp jawline and a too-pretty mouth.Sorry for the inconvenience,she tells him,thank you for your time,and that evening Sebastian stares at his face in the mirror, wonders what he'd look like if he grew his hair long and got a little stubble.





	saw myself tonight (caught my reflection in the mirror)

The first Sebastian hears of it, he's approached by an extremely competent-looking blonde woman in a sharp dark suit; she flashes her badge—CIA, what the _fuck—_ and looks him up and down, frowns just a little.

“Mr Stan?” she asks, “we've got some questions, if you wouldn't mind coming with me,” and it doesn't even occur to Seb to wonder whether he's being arrested until after he's gotten into her car, is watching her drive him over to Midtown and lead him into a shabbily neutral interview room in the middle of an unremarkable office building. It doesn't _seem_ like a CIA black site; it doesn't look anything like _Homeland._ He's not even in handcuffs.

“Am I under arrest?” he asks, more bewildered than anything else, and she shakes her head.

“Coffee? Water? We just have some questions.”

“So this isn't about…” he starts, and drifts off, embarrassed. Watches her laugh.

“No,” she says, “I don't give a shit about your youthful indiscretions. Although, seriously, I have to say, that was a lot of coke. And a _lot_ of sex.”

“Theatre school,” Seb shrugs, “what can I say. I got some therapy eventually, channelled it into working out instead of fucking strangers in club bathrooms.” He's not even sure why it comes out; hasn't told anyone that but, but he figures the _CIA_ have got better things to do than sell B-list celebrity secrets to tabloids, right?

“Yeah,” the agent—agent? He thinks that's what they're called—says, rolling her eyes. “Everyone thinks the goddamn Winter Soldier goes to their gym.”

“Okay, so if it's not about— _that_ , then what am I here for?”

“What connection do you have with this man?” she says, and puts down a photo on the table. Sebastian stares at it. Stares back up at her.

“You're shitting me,” he says. “Come on, this has gotta be a joke.”

“No joke. Your background—Eastern Europe, defecting from Romania—that wouldn't have been remarkable on its own, but…” and she gestures at the photos, at his face. “You don't know who this is?”

“Of course I know who _Sergeant James Barnes_ is, I went to the Captain America exhibition like everyone else. I went to the _gala opening._ ”

“Huh,” the agent says, “I'm surprised that—I guess Steve didn't see you,” and that's another layer of something Sebastian absolutely does not understand, so he just goes back to the first issue here.

“Come on,” he says again. “Okay, we kind of look similar, I guess I'm the celebrity look-alike you'd get if you stuck our faces through one of those dumb apps—or he is, maybe, shit, he's probably still more famous than I am. But he died in, like, 1945, right? Why are you asking me about this _now_?”

“1944,” she says, and considers him for a long moment before putting another photo down on the table. “And he didn't die.”

“What the _fuck,_ ” Sebastian says. Stares even harder at the new photo. “What happened to his arm?”

Maybe in the end it's his absolute confusion which convinces them, he thinks; maybe it's just the fact that he's obviously a total idiot, couldn't possibly have any connection to this guy called the _Winter Soldier_ beyond the fact that they both have high cheekbones, grey eyes and a sharp jawline and a too-pretty mouth. _Sorry for the inconvenience,_ she tells him, _thank you for your time,_ and that evening Sebastian stares at his face in the mirror, wonders what he'd look like if he grew his hair long and got a little stubble.

“No,” his agent and stylist and PR all say the next day, “it's not in your image contract, absolutely not,” and he shrugs, pulls on a sheer daisy-print shirt and smiles at his own reflection.

“Yeah, I like this one,” he says, and that should be the end of that.

 

It should be the end, and then three years later he's waiting on his Starbucks order, fucking around on Instagram on his phone, when he gets the unnerving feeling he's being watched. He should be used to it by now, is a little more famous than he was, recognized on the street occasionally and even asked for autographs or selfies, but it's still—weird, he guesses. He looks up. Tries to surreptitiously look around to see who's doing the staring.

“Oh,” he says, “ _shit,_ ” and makes solid eye contact straight with the fucking Winter Soldier himself. “You're—”

“Yeah,” the Soldier murmurs, “I am. Come on, _Sebastian,_ let's go, you're gonna come drink your coffee with me in the park.”

“Okay,” Sebastian says, lets himself be led out of Starbucks and down towards Prospect Park, and realizes only belatedly that this is essentially the same move the CIA pulled on him. “You know the CIA is looking for you, right?”

“Nah,” the Soldier says. “That was a misunderstanding. Case of mistaken identity.”

“Oh. Okay. And, uh, you're not going to, um, kill me?”

The Soldier stops on the sidewalk. Looks him up and down, and Sebastian tries not to shiver. “Sweetheart,” he says eventually, “do I fuckin’ _look_ like I'm going to kill you?”

“No,” Seb admits; he looks—well, he looks mostly like _Seb_ , actually. Tight black jeans, boots, a heather-grey t-shirt under a leather jacket. Long hair, softer and less stringy than it'd looked in the CIA photo, and in his metal hand he's holding a—Seb squints at it—a white chocolate mocha frappuccino and a paper bag with two cake pops in it. “Okay, yeah, you don't really look like like you're gonna kill me.”

“Glad we've got that sorted,” the Soldier says, low and amused. “I'm Barnes, by the way. Or Bucky. Yasha, if you speak Russian.”

“Only Romanian,” Sebastian tells him, “I still speak it with my mom,” and the Soldier— _Bucky—_ stares at him for a minute.

“Right,” he says eventually, “okay,” and sips his frappuccino, nods at the nearest park bench.

 

It's oddly natural talking to Bucky; apparently he was just curious about this kid with his face, wanted to find out more.

“I watched a bunch of your movies,” he says, and Sebastian groans, because, honestly, most of them are _so fucking bad_.

“I saw you in the museum,” he counters, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Hands him a cake pop.

“Yeah, I was cute when I was a kid, right? Real teen heartthrob. No wonder girls like your movies.”

“Fuck you,” Sebastian says, laughing. “The last one I made was Oscar nominated. I worked with Margot Robbie.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “I asked Steve if I should grow a mustache like that and he wouldn't fuck me for three days,” and Sebastian blinks.

“Steve,” he says, remembering the CIA agent, and then, “shit, Steve _Rogers_? Captain America? You—”

“Okay, okay, keep it down or it'll be all over the papers,” Bucky grouses. Seb shrugs.

“You know there are probably already photos of us on Instagram right now.”

“That's… unnerving,” Bucky says. “Usually the arm and the murder glare kind of keep them away.”

“We could go to my place,” Seb suggests, “it's not far from here.” Doesn't know why he says it, really, except— it's kind of nice, hanging out with this gritty-reboot of himself, a guy who clearly doesn't give one single shit about Seb's fame or career, and Bucky squints at him a minute.

“Sure,” he says. “Yeah, okay, sweetheart. Why not.”

 

He kind of wants a smoke when they get home. Isn't sure how to ask, and then eventually just spits it out: _hey, you mind if I smoke up?_

“Smoke up?” Bucky says, “what, a cigarette? Yeah, gimme one, Steve doesn't let me smoke in the house,” and then he must realize. Laughs a little. “ _Oh,_ ” he says, “right, that. Yeah, go ahead. Doesn't do much for me, honestly, but you go right ahead.”

“I've got some good stuff,” Seb says, “a dispensary in LA,” and passes the joint to Bucky anyway when he's done rolling. Watches him inhale.

“Huh,” Bucky says after. Exhales, slow, and drops his head back until it's resting on the back of the couch. Hands Seb back the joint. “You're right, that is good shit. They grow it stronger now, or something?”

“I guess,” Seb says, and takes a long slow drag.

 

“Hey,” Bucky says after another joint, and Seb turns his head lazily to look at him. “How much money do you think we'd make if we did a porn together?”

“I,” Seb says. Opens his mouth and closes it again. “ _What._ ”

“Porn,” Bucky says like it's simple. “I bet if we found you a WW2 uniform and dressed you up cute we'd make a load of fucking bank.”

“What the _hell_ ,” Sebastian says. Cannot now figure out how they've got here, but he's really fucking high and it's pretty funny; he just kind of rolls with it.

“Come on,” Bucky says, “as if you've ever said no to playing a sad gay twink. Like I said, I've seen your movies.”

“I'm not making a porn with you,” Seb says, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I have enough money.”

“Well, yeah, same,” Bucky admits. “The money ain't really the point though, is it?”

“What—what is the point, then?”

“Don't lie,” Bucky says, “like you've never thought about sucking your own dick.”

“What? No!”

“Never fucked in front of a mirror? Come on, sweetheart, you're too pretty not to wanna watch yourself. _And_ you're in movies, that sort of proves my whole point.”

“You know nobody actually fucks in film sex scenes,” Sebastian says, amused now. “Or maybe you don't. Did they have movies back in your day?”

“Ha ha, very funny. God, there are so many good titles we could run with. Winter Is Coming? Nah, that's kind of overplayed. And it's gotta be more about the doubles shit. Twins Gone Wild, that kind of thing.”

“Two Guys One Face,” Sebastian suggests, and Bucky cackles with laughter.

"Buck Wild,” he says. "Two Buck Fuck. Two Buckys Sitting In A Hot Tub No Feet Apart Cuz They’re Real Gay.”

"That's pretty self-centered, man," Seb says, “maybe people would be into it for me, I have fans," but it comes out half-hearted like he can't even convince himself.

“They wouldn't,” Bucky tells him. “Sorry, bud. You're pretty, but you know people go wild for the arm and the murder glare, dunno why.”

“Danger kink,” Sebastian says, and then swallows hard. Bucky tracks the movement of his throat, his tongue as he licks his lips.

“That right, darlin’?” he asks, and Seb thinks, oh _fuck._

 

“How, um,” he says, trying to get back onto safer ground, “how did you get it? The arm, I mean.”

“Russians cut my arm off and replaced it with a metal one so I could be the fist of Hydra,” Bucky shrugs. “Shit, don't tell anyone that, it's supposed to be a classified top secret or something. Also, that's another title right there, I guess: Fisted By The Fist Of Hydra.”

“You're putting your fist nowhere near my ass, man,” Seb tells him, and Bucky smirks, chews his lip a little like he's thinking about it anyway. “Can I touch it?” Sebastian asks, and Bucky nods. Flexes it in a quiet whir of complex mechanics, turns his arm palm-up so Sebastian can stroke his fingers from the inside of his forearm down to his metal fingertips.

“I thought it'd be cold,” he says.”Can you—can you feel that?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, “some. It's got pressure sensors. I'd be able to feel it if I—” and he lifts his hand, puts his metal thumb on Seb's lower lip. Sebastian opens his mouth, automatic—someone's got their fingers on his mouth, it's just habit—and sucks Bucky's thumb in, sees how Bucky's watching him hot and intent, eyes big and dark.

“Thought you said you weren't interested,” he says. Pushes his thumb a little deeper into Seb's mouth, then pulls it out, traces wet along his lower lip. Seb chases it with his tongue, watching how Bucky's looking at his mouth. “Kind of seems like you're interested, kid.”

“I said I wasn't gonna make a porn with you,” Seb shrugs, “not that I'm not interested,” and Bucky blinks at him real slow.

 

“Fuck,” he says after a minute, “it's a goddamn trip, you know that? Seeing your face. Like looking at myself through a mirror to seventy years ago, you look so young. Never knew I looked so sweet.”

“You don't exactly look your age,” Sebastian says, and Bucky shrugs.

“I know. But Jesus, look at you. I don't know whether I want to kiss you or punch you in the mouth, fuck.”

“Uh,” Sebastian says. Should say, _what the fuck, dude, you can't just go telling people you want to punch them in the mouth even if you did have your arm cut off by the Russians,_ but halfway there the thought gets overtaken by the idea of Bucky slapping him, and he goes from idly turned on to fully hard so quickly his head swims a little.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. Blinks at him again, and Sebastian clears his throat, tries to ignore how tight his jeans are right now.

“You should, uh, kiss me,” he says, “I can't go round looking like someone punched me in the mouth, I'm a public figure.”

“Are you just,” Bucky says, lazily amused, and it's like Seb can hear his own words on repeat in his head surrounded by flashing red warning lights: _danger kink_. He's suddenly if dimly aware that this is a guy who clearly pulled some shit at some stage in the past, who's got a metal arm and a solid death glare, who _fucks Captain America_ , and Seb's, what, just invited him into his apartment with no second thoughts?

“I'm gonna get a drink,” he says to give himself a little space, “you want one?”

“Nah, I'm good,” Bucky says. Sits back, and Seb unfolds himself off the couch, goes to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. Swallows down about half of it, stares at the fridge door and takes a couple of deep breaths, and then turns to discover that in the meantime Bucky's gotten up, is leaning in the kitchen doorway just watching him.

“Jesus,” Seb says, heart pounding. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, not sounding sorry. Watches Sebastian take another sip from the water bottle. “Actually, you mind if I have a mouthful? That goddamn reefer, I forgot how dry it makes my mouth.”

“Sure,” Sebastian says. Offers him the bottle. “ _Reefer?_ Seriously?” and just like that his flare of alarm is fading away into the background. Bucky acknowledges it with a slight nod. Drinks the rest of the water, puts the empty bottle down on the sideboard next to him.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head so that his cheekbones and jaw look even sharper; Seb recognizes the move as exactly the kind of shit he pulls himself. “I watched _The Covenant_.”

“Fuck,” Sebastian says, “honestly, that _fucking_ movie,” and Bucky laughs.

“Yeah,” he says, “it's real fuckin’ bad, but,” and takes a step forward, another, until he's crowding Sebastian back against the wall. “I couldn't help but noticing,” he continues, “you looked pretty good in it, sweetheart. That one scene, you know the one. Looked like you liked it,” and traces his fingers down Seb's jaw, places two fingertips on the notch at the base of his throat. Sebastian licks his lips again, can't help it. Sees how Bucky's gaze snaps to his mouth.

“I,” he says, and swallows, feels Bucky increase the pressure incrementally. “I, uh.”

“Feel good?” Bucky asks, casual. “Yeah, baby, I think that feels good, huh,” and spreads his fingers out, flattens his palm against Sebastian's throat. Seb feels his breath pick up, his heart beat fast, and he knows Bucky must be able to hear it, to feel it. Jesus _Christ_ is this the hottest thing that has ever happened to him or what, he feels like he might die over it. He should say, _I'm an actor, it was my job to make it look good, that doesn't mean—_ but anyone who's seen that scene can probably guess that he was drawing a little too much from real life.

“So, are you going to kiss me?” he says instead, and Bucky huffs out a quiet little laugh, leans in until his mouth is very close to Seb's.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “kiss me, baby,” and when Seb leans forward to close the distance between them, Bucky doesn't move his hand off Sebastian's throat at all.

 

They get from there to Seb's bedroom somehow, god only knows how—Sebastian kind of thinks maybe Bucky just _picked him up_ and carried him there, which: goddamn. He isn't sure what to do once they're there; should he just take off his clothes, or what, but Bucky pushes him down to his knees, gets his metal hand in Seb's hair, and wow, yeah, that's. That's direction, alright.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, “you know I've been thinking about your mouth, fuck.”

“Always wished you could suck your own dick, huh,” Seb says, looking up at him, and Bucky laughs, shrugs. Undoes his belt and his fly, one-handed, and Seb pulls his jeans down, gets his dick out. It's thick, uncut, wet already. A bead of pre-come about to drip, and Seb leans forward, catches it on his tongue.

“Honestly,” Bucky says, “mostly I always wished a little I could fuck my own mouth.”

“Well,” Seb says, “you wanna try?” and Bucky groans, shoves his dick in Seb's mouth.

 

Sebastian doesn't even know how long he's on his knees. Everything just— fades away, until all he's aware of is Bucky's hand on the back of his head, his dick filling Seb's mouth and pushing in and in until his jaw aches and he chokes a little.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, sounding satisfied, “like that,” and pulls Seb off his dick, thrusts his hips forward again so he's fucking right down Sebastian's throat. “Like that,” he says again, fist tightening in Seb's hair, and all Seb can do is open his mouth wider, take it and take it exactly how he wants to. He doesn't—god, nobody fucks him like this, not holding him down and making him take it until his eyes water, until the sounds of his mouth on their cock are loud and wetly obscene, and it's so goddamn good he can feel the buzz of it under his skin, all the way down his spine.

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters. Pulls all the way back so that his dick slides out, dripping and spit-slick, and taps Seb's cheek with two fingers in a way Sebastian can tell is testing him.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough; fucked out. “Slap me, yeah,” and Bucky does just that, hard and sudden: the crack of his palm across Seb's cheek, and Sebastian moans. Tilts his face up, asking without asking for another, and Bucky slaps him again, one-two open palm and then backhanded across his mouth, and shoves his dick straight back into Seb's open mouth.

“Christ,” he says. “ _Christ,_ kid, the mouth on you, who taught you to take it like that, huh? God, I wanna fuck you up, make you filthy,” and Sebastian feels the first pulse of come bitter on the back of his tongue before Bucky pulls out again to come in long hot streaks all over his face. He closes his eyes, feels it land on his cheeks, his throat, and then after a couple seconds opens his eyes again, makes eye contact with Bucky while he leans forward to lap the last few drops from the head of his dick.

“You,” Bucky says, breathing a little hard, “are filthy all by yourself, huh?” Takes his metal hand out of Sebastian's hair, thumbs over Seb's cheek and smears the come wet down his jaw. “Don't need me to show you how, huh.”

“I got up to some shit,” Sebastian shrugs, “when I was younger,” and Bucky laughs.

“You're _still_ young, sweetheart, compared to me. Come on, get up, I wanna see you naked already.”

“Then get your own fucking clothes off,” Seb says, “and maybe you will.”

 

He strips down to his underwear, wipes his face with his shirt. Bucky kicks his boots and jeans off, hesitates when he's about to pull off his t-shirt.

“I don't care,” he says, “it's not—it doesn't bother me, but you should know—it's a little fucked up, where this whole thing joins up with the rest of me.” Taps his metal arm, and Sebastian blinks. Looks up at him.

“You _know_ how hot you are, right? I'm not about to be a dick over your fucking metal arm. It's cool.”

“Okay,” Bucky shrugs, “so long as you're good,” and tugs off his shirt, flings it in the direction of the rest of his clothing and joins Sebastian in bed. He wasn't kidding; there's a line of long-healed but painful-looking scarring in the hollow of his shoulder where the metal intersects, but Seb doesn't stare. Just leans in for a kiss, feeling the scrape of Bucky's stubble against his lips.

“I'm gonna eat your ass until you're nice and sweet and begging for it,” Bucky tells him, “and then I'm gonna fuck you until you can't remember your name, if that works for you.”

“That,” Seb says, breathless. “Yeah, damn, that works. Didn't you just—though?”

“Supersoldier,” Bucky says, “I got a lot of stamina, darlin’,” and _wow_ that's, uh, that's kind of so ridiculously hot that Seb feels his own brain stutter a little at the thought. Then Bucky is manhandling him easily, flipping him over and pulling off his underwear, pushing his thighs open and shifting to sit between them. “Yeah,” Bucky says, and grabs at Seb's ass, squeezes it. Smacks it, metal hand hard and shocking against Sebastian's skin, and Seb gasps loud with the sudden pain of it. “Oh, you like that?” Bucky asks, and does it again: not really hard the way Seb suspects he could, but just enough that he knows the handprint must be flushing red on Seb's skin. Then Bucky is lying down, thumbing his ass cheeks apart, and Seb feels the heat of his breath before he drags his tongue slow and wet and filthy over Seb's hole.

 

Bucky eats him out the same way he’s done everything else up to now: hard, intent, a little rough exactly the way Seb always wants it and is always a little embarrassed to ask for. It’s enough that when his stubble grazes sharp against Sebastian’s skin he gasps and then moans at the soft wet rub of Bucky’s tongue, the way he pushes the tip of it in past his rim and sucks at him. Then he feels the pad of Bucky’s thumb rub at him, the sensitive spot behind his balls, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s harder, unyielding; Bucky’s using his _metal fucking hand_ for this.

“Yeah,” he gasps, “fuck, yeah, put it— put it in me,” and Bucky laughs low in his throat before sliding his thumb up further, rubbing it spit-slick against his hole. Then he’s pushing in, licking around it; it’s _hard_ , god, hard the way a plug or a toy would be, and Seb groans, grinds his hips down against the bed for some friction. “Please,” he says, “gimme—more, I want—” and Bucky takes him at his word, pulls his thumb out—ignoring the way Sebastian whines—and pushes a finger into him instead, sinks it all the way in to the knuckle. It’s—it hurts, a stinging ache that gets Seb so fucking good, and then it’s easing into the kind of pleasure that makes him moan.

“You ain’t a super-human like Steve,” Bucky says, “that’s as much as you’re getting without some goddamn lube, sweetheart,” and Seb moans again, tries anyway to fuck himself back on Bucky’s finger.

“Top drawer,” he says, “gimme a minute,” and reaches for it in his nightstand, finds it and passes it back to Bucky. “Now can you _please_ just—oh, _fuck_.”

“Like that?” Bucky asks lazily. Pushes both his fingers a little further in. “Yeah? You want it? I dunno, seems like too much more of this and you’ll come before I even get my dick in you.” That’s true, Sebastian can feel it building at the base of his spine, but it feels so goddamn good he can’t help it.

“Then get your dick in me,” he says, “come on, fuck me already,” and Bucky pushes his fingers all the way in, pulls them out and shoves them back in like he’s testing whether Seb’s loose enough for him.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay. Hey, you want me to use a rubber? I’m literally immune to disease, god bless the Russians and their dumb fuckin’ experiments, but I can use one if you don’t want to get messy.”

“Nah,” Seb says, because he never gets to fuck bareback and he’s always had such a goddamn thing for it, for letting someone come in him so that it drips out, wet and filthy, and _immune to disease_ seems like a pretty solid reason to have Bucky do it. “Get in me, I wanna feel it.”

“Of course you fucking do,” Bucky says, sounding amused, and then he’s pressing his fingers against Seb’s prostate, rubbing at it just hard enough to hear how Seb’s breath catches in the back of his throat. “God, you know how good you look fucking yourself on a couple metal fingers, baby? I’m serious, we’d make so much goddamn money if we ever shot a porn.”

“Maybe next time,” Seb gasps, thrusting against the sheets again, feeling the way he’s leaked pre-come wet all over them. His dick hurts it’s so hard; his eyes are watering again. “Come _on_ , I can’t—”

“Oh,” Bucky says, “here, let me help with that,” and pulls his fingers out, grabs Seb by the hips and flips him over. Pushes his knees up and open, smacks the back of his thigh hard enough that Seb cries out and then slaps him again, the other thigh. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” he says, lining his dick up with Sebastian’s hole, and then shoves in, ungentle. Seb hears himself gasp so loud it’s almost a scream, and Bucky thrusts into him again, pinches mean at one of his nipples.

“Fuck,” Sebastian groans, “do that again,” and Bucky reaches for the other one, rolls it between metal thumb and forefinger.

“You know,” he says, moving his hips slow, pushing in deeper and deeper, “people told me to go fuck myself, I bet they never thought I’d take it literal.”

“Jesus,” Seb gasps; Bucky’s dick feels even thicker in his ass than it did down his throat, and he feels like he’s being taken apart. He’s never been so painfully turned on. “Did it— _fuck_ —did it hold up to your expectations?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, a hitch in his own voice now. Bottoms out and begins to thrust his hips faster, harder. Leans over Sebastian, holds himself up with one hand and gets the other on Seb’s throat again. Not pressing down, just held there: the reminder that he _could_ press down, and even that makes Seb’s breath stutter. “Yeah, god, it— you’re so fucking pretty. And you know how to take it even better than I did when I was a little twink like you, Jesus.”

“Oh,” Seb says, arches up, and then Bucky does press down, wraps his fingers tighter and settles his palm so that Seb’s blood begins to pound in his ears.

“I think,” Bucky says, considering, “you could come like this if I told you to, right?” Snaps his hips up, hard, and it hits Seb just right; he must make a noise because Bucky does it again. “Yeah,” Bucky says, “I think you’re gonna. Come on, baby, come for me,” and Sebastian can’t do anything else: comes all in a rush, dick pulsing, come hot and wet on both their stomachs, and just when he thinks he’s done Bucky takes his hand off Seb’s throat, reaches down and wraps it around Seb’s dick, strokes him through another wave.

“Fuck,” he groans, shaky, “oh, _fuck_ ,” and he’s trembling, oversensitive, hyperaware of Bucky’s dick still hard and deep in his ass.

“Too much?” Bucky asks, and yeah, it probably is, but Sebastian loves being taken to the edge of too much and then pushed right over, so he shakes his head, arches up again.

“Fuck me,” he says, “come in me,” and his voice is rough but _god_ he wants it. Bucky looks at him a moment.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay, it ain’t gonna take much,” and pulls out, slides back in. “Look at me,” he tells Sebastian, “I wanna—” and leans down, kisses him slow and intent. Fucks into Seb with a steady rhythm, not hard but relentless, and it’s got Seb going right out into that same headspace he had when he was on his knees; _god_ he loves to be used like this.

“God, your face,” Bucky says, breathless, “you’re so—” and slaps his cheek with his metal hand, careful not to make it too hard. The sting flares and fades, and Seb wants more; always fucking wants _more_ , wants it so bad he can taste it.

“Again,” Seb gasps, and Bucky does, stroking his cheek after. “Come on, make me filthy. I want to feel you fill me up until I’m dripping, I want you to lick me clean and fuck me again while I’m loose and wet for you, would you just—” He reaches up, grabs Bucky by the hair and pulls hard, kisses him and bites his lower lip, and it makes Bucky growl.

“ _God_ ,” Bucky says. Grabs Seb’s hands, pins them above his head. “Is that how you want it, huh? You still want it rough?” and Sebastian bites him again like he’s daring Bucky to do something about it. “You little _shit_ ,” Bucky tells him, pleased: Seb can tell. “Yeah, okay,” and then he shoves, hard, and Seb shouts out loud. “You wanted this,” Bucky shrugs. Fucks into him again, and again, and every fiber in Seb’s body feels like it’s on fire, like it’s all too much; it’s everything he wants, everything he’d spent years looking for with speed and cocaine and dumb bathroom hookups, and then Bucky gasps, shuddering, and comes in him pulse after pulse, filling him so deep Seb’s eyes roll back in his head.

 

“Jesus,” Bucky says after. Pulls out, groaning, and collapses down beside Sebastian. “I thought I’d have to go easy on you, given the whole supersoldier thing, but you really fuckin’ took it, huh.”

“I might be ruined for sex with anyone else,” Seb says honestly. Stares at the ceiling for a minute before rolling onto his side. “ _Fuck_ , that was—”

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs. Props himself up on one elbow, strokes his palm down gently over Seb’s ribs, his hipbone. “God, you’re pretty.”

“Like I said,” Sebastian says, “kind of self-centered, man, given how much we look alike,” but he’s smiling as he says it. Bucky wasn’t wrong, is the thing: he _has_ fucked in front of a mirror, watching his own face, his open mouth.

“You’re real messy, too,” Bucky tells him, pulling him onto his stomach and running his fingertip lightly down Seb’s crack. “So full you’re dripping, just like you wanted. Want me to get you clean, huh?”

“Fuck,” Seb says. “Fu— _fuck_. Maybe in, like. Maybe in half an hour. When I’ve had time to recover.” But he draws one knee up towards his elbow so Bucky can play with his hole more easily, pushes down into the touch, and Bucky laughs like he’s got Sebastian’s number.

“You need a break, I could call Steve,” he says. “I know you said you might be ruined for fucking anyone else, and all, but he’s about as good as me. You want a threesome with two supersoldiers, baby? Or you could just watch for a while. You know, catch your breath.”

Seb’s brain basically whites out; it takes him a moment or two to even think enough to be able to answer. “Do I want a threesome with _you and Captain America_ ,” he says, too turned on to even wonder how his life got this weird this quick. “Uh, _yes_. You should. Call him.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. “I know he’d love to see your pretty face,” and Seb laughs a little.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “way prettier than yours,” and Bucky smacks him just as hard as he’d hoped he’d get for that.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> brought to you by tumblr, wherein I said 
> 
>  
> 
> _so uh taking into account the whole “Hot Tub Time Machine existing in the MCU means Sebastian Stan exists in the MCU”, who supports my right to write an extremely stupid fic where Bucky Murder-Glare Barnes runs into Sebastian Disaster Twink Stan_
> 
>  
> 
> _and Bucky is just like, “hey how much money do you think we’d make if we did a porn together, I bet if we found you a WW2 uniform and dressed you up cute we’d make a load of fucking bank, don’t lie and tell me you ain’t thought about sucking your own dick, sweetheart, you’re too pretty for that”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Seb like “well shit I never say no to playing a role of a sad gay twink, i guess”_
> 
>  
> 
> and tumblr said: this needs to exist
> 
> anyway I guess they didn't make a porn but the night is young 
> 
>  
> 
> you too can join me [on tumblr](https://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/) and convince me to write fic that the world doesn't really need


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